… inertia reel seatbelts; reclining high-back bucket seats; the parcel tray extends to the full width of the interior; a centre console; arm rests on all four doors; the classic 180 grille …

Jen, again, knocking. ‘You’re not the only one!’

I threw down the paper and flushed the toilet, zipped up and exited.

Jen stood at the door, sniffing. ‘It doesn’t even smell.’

‘My shit don’t stink.’

The cleaning frenzy had stopped, so I returned to my room. Mum was still there, sitting on my freshly made bed, a pile of shoes at her feet. The wardrobe door hanging from its one good hinge. And, in her hand, the photo of Dad. She said, ‘You hid it?’

I thought what to do. It wasn’t like there was any explanation. ‘I didn’t want you to … I thought you’d be upset.’

Why had she cleared the shoes out? As though she was looking for it.

‘Is this the only one?’

‘Well, it’s the only one you didn’t get.’

Her face changed, like I’d gone from son to stranger. ‘Why did I do that?’ she asked.

‘You tell me.’

She sat up, confused. ‘The whole deal … cos I’m a bitch?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You don’t know what went on.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Shit! I’d said it. I shouldn’t have, but I had.

‘What?’

So I told her: the potted history I’d learned from Val. ‘See, I’m not stupid. You coulda told me.’

And the look: You don’t know why?

‘I’ve had to guess.’ And what I wanted to say: when other kids got their dad, not their pop, on the father—son camp; when I looked courtside and it was just you, filing your nails, or Jen, plaiting her hair; when I wished for even the dodgiest of dads (worse than Gary) but realised I couldn’t have one, any one.

‘Nasty,’ she said, standing, throwing the photo on the pile of deceased shoes, boots, worn-down thongs.

‘He couldn’t have been that bad.’ I wanted to say: You made him go. I knew I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be able to take it back.

‘There were drugs,’ she said. ‘Did you know that?’

I dared not move.

‘I put up with the rest, but I wasn’t going to put up with that. Not in my house, around you and Jen.’ She picked up the photo and showed me. ‘Would you have kept it?’

I waited. ‘I guess not.’

Then she sat on the bed, studying the photo. ‘He was a good man, Clem, and he tried. But he changed. When you got kids you can only have so much patience. I waited for a long time.’

I sat beside her and took the photo. ‘I can see, I mean, from what Val said …’

‘Val?’

Shit! Again. ‘It wasn’t her fault. I kept on at her.’

The toilet flushed and Jen came out, washed her hands and stood in my doorway. ‘What’s wrong?’ She noticed the photo and knew, I guessed, although she decided to stay out of it. She went into her room and closed the door.